


It's alarming, truly, how disarming you can be

by Ferrera



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Baby Boy, Crossdressing, Dirty Talk, Feminization, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Lingerie, M/M, Nail Polish, Needy Sam Winchester, Nipple Play, Panties, Sibling Incest, Underage Sex, Weecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 04:21:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13494874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ferrera/pseuds/Ferrera
Summary: John’s on a hunt, Dean’s cleaning the guns their father didn’t take with him, and Sammy is painting his nails.





	It's alarming, truly, how disarming you can be

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was supposed to be part of a bigger work I've posted on here but I left it out for reasons I'll explain in the end notes. I kinda liked it though, so I've decided to post it as a separate piece instead. Sammy's thirteen, don't read if you're uncomfortable with that.
> 
>    
> Title's from _Carmen_ by Lana Del Rey.

  
John’s on a hunt, Dean’s cleaning the guns their father didn’t take with him, and Sammy is painting his nails. He’d nicked two little bottles of nail polish at the drugstore earlier today, one dark red, the other baby pink, then asked Dean which one he’d preferred. Dean had chosen the latter, not needing his thirteen-year-old brother to look any more fatal than he already did lately, trying to hang on to the image of Sammy as his pure, innocent little brother, though he knew Sam was going to be the death of him either way.

Dean’s sitting on the couch, all the gun parts and a couple bottles of oil spread out on the coffee table before him, cloth in his hand. Sammy’s sitting on the floor by the side of the table, legs tucked under his butt, just the two bottles in front of him. He’s got the too-long sleeves of his gray hoodie rolled up, one hand resting flat on the table, fingers spread a little. He’s already done his left hand, the still-wet pink polish on his nails glimmering in the dim light. His tongue peeks out in concentration as he leans forward to do his other hand, carefully painting the tiny fingernail of his pinky with his slightly shaking left hand. Strands of dark blonde hair are falling into his face and he tries to brush them out of his eyes with the back of his hand, careful not to mess up his neat handiwork.

Cleaning the guns is so much of a routine by now that Dean can shamelessly watch his baby brother while he does it. His hands work on autopilot as he watches Sam carefully dipping the little brush back in the glass bottle and wiping it on the inner rim of it, removing the excess from the brush, making sure he’s got _just_ the right amount of nail polish on it. He adores the way his baby brother’s eyebrows knit together, can't help but smile a little at the way he sighs in annoyance as another strand of hair falls into his face.

“Lemme put it in a ponytail for you,” Dean offers, reaching out for Sam’s already-painted hand, touching the black hair tie around his slender wrist. Sam looks up at him, snapped out of his concentration, then smiles.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, putting the brush back in the bottle, “but— careful, yeah, don’t smudge it.” He holds up his left hand and wriggles his freshly-painted fingers to emphasize. “And clean your hands first.”

Dean rubs the oil stains off his fingers with the clean side of the cloth best as he can. Sam extends his hand and Dean curls the middle and index fingers of both hands under the tie, then stretches it wide enough to take it off Sam’s delicate wrist without ruining his nails. He wraps it around his own wrist, the tie snapping tight around it.

“C’mere,” Dean says, gesturing to the space in between his spread thighs. Sam gets up and maneuvers himself between his brother and the table, then sinks back down to his knees between Dean’s thighs. Dean combs his hair back a little, enjoying the feeling of his baby brother’s soft locks gliding through his fingers. He gathers Sam’s hair in his hand and lifts it up, using his free hand to pull the hair tie off his wrist and pulls Sam’s hair through it, twists the tie and pulls his hair through it a second time, then repeats the motions again.

“There you go,” he murmurs, carefully tugging at Sammy's little ponytail to tighten it. Sam murmurs a _thanks_ , then gets up and goes back to his job, taking the brush back out of the tiny bottle and coats his last four fingers with such precision Dean can’t help but smile. Sam carefully blows over them a bit, then shows them to Dean.

“What do you think?” he asks, eyes gleaming. It looks sweet and pretty and innocent and that combination always suits his baby brother best, but what Dean loves most of all is the way his face lights up as Dean carefully takes one of his hands in his, rubbing his thumb over the back of Sam’s hand.

“Real pretty, Sammy,” Dean murmurs, watching the soft-pink polish gleaming in the dim light. Sam smiles sweetly, _almost_ shyly as he looks at his hand in Dean’s, pink cheeks bunching up, but when he looks back up at Dean, his eyes glitter mischievously.

“Good,” Sam says, the corners of his mouth tugging into a satisfied little smirk. He screws the lid back on the bottle, then sits down on the end of the couch, hugging his knees as he watches Dean cleaning the guns just as intently as Dean had been watching him.

They sit in silence. Sammy’s absent-mindedly drumming his fingers against his legs, impatiently waiting for his nails to dry. He’s wearing Dean’s old gray-ish sweatpants, his pink fingernails standing out against the faded color of the fabric. Dean finishes cleaning the parts of his Colt, always saving the best for last, then puts all the parts back together with quick, skilled fingers and racks the slide of the unloaded gun for good measure. He rubs the oil stains off his hands with the cleanest part of the cloth he can find, then tosses it on the table. He leans back against the couch, looking over at Sam, who’s again wavering his hands a little.

“Still hasn’t dried?”

“Dunno,” Sam says, then smiles that smile that tells Dean he’s up to something. “Gonna let me check?” He stands up and worms himself in between Dean’s thighs again, this time facing his brother. Standing up, he’s barely taller than Dean sitting down. By reflex, Dean brings his hands up to Sam’s narrow hips, rests them there.

“Let you check? How?”

Sam smiles, then takes Dean’s face in his hands, tipping it up a little.

“There’s this book,” he starts, “in which this woman paints her nails with a mix of nail polish and rattlesnake venom.” Dean shivers involuntarily as Sam digs his nails into the sides of his face. “Leaves awful burns when it’s still wet,” he continues, slowly dragging his nails down Dean’s cheeks, “but when it has dried, it’s completely harmless.” He draws his hands back, rests them on Dean’s shoulders. “Guess you’re lucky, huh.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you’ve milked a rattlesnake with your bare hands?”

“Whatever,” Sam says, rolling his eyes, “Don’t always gotta ruin my games.” Dean’s about to complain— he _doesn’t_ always ruin Sammy’s little games, if anything, he gives in pretty much all the fucking time, such a pathetic sucker for his baby brother, but Sam digs his fingers into Dean’s shoulders and smiles at him again, eyes twinkling dangerously.

“Anyway. You did choose the right color, you know.”

“Is that so?” Dean raises an eyebrow at him. Sam nods fervently, then turns around in Dean’s hands.

“Pull my sweatpants down, Dean.”

Heat spreads through Dean, his heart starting to race, ears buzzing. His hands tightening around Sam’s hips.

“Sammy, Christ, what—”

“C’mon,” Sam says, canting his hips a little, the top of his butt pressing against Dean’s palms. “You gotta see, Dean, it’s the exact same color.”

Dean can hear himself breathing hard. He pushes Sam’s hoodie up a bit, a pale stripe of skin showing, then hooks his fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants. He holds his breath as he pulls them down slowly, exposing the swell of Sam’s butt, covered with baby pink lace, the color just a little pinker than his pale skin.

“Jesus Christ, Sammy,” Dean breathes, drinking in the sight in front of him. Sam sighs softly as Dean pulls his sweatpants further down, until the waistband is stretched just below his butt.

“Do you like it?” Sam asks, the tiniest waver in his voice, like some part of him is afraid that he’s finally taken this too far. Dean runs his fingertips over the lacy fabric, along the lines of the panties, following the curve of his butt. He grabs handfuls of it in his hands, watching how his hands cover Sam’s little butt almost completely.

“Lookin’ real pretty, Sammy, Jesus.” He kneads Sam’s cheeks in his hands, making his baby brother throw his head back and keen softly in the back of his throat.

“Just as pretty as those girls you fuck?” Sam asks, sounding a bit shy, a little unsure, and Dean can’t see his face but he’s probably blushing bright pink, way, way deeper than the shade of his panties.

“Prettier, even.”

“Don’t lie,” Sam whines, canting his hips some more, giving Dean the most perfect view, and really, he isn’t lying. He rests his hands on Sam’s hips, holds him firmly.

“Not lyin', Sammy, not at all,” Dean says, leaning in to press a kiss to his lower back. “Lookin' so fucking pretty for me, baby boy.”

Sam sighs happily, relaxing a little, and Dean slips two fingers under the thin fabric, his fingers visible though the panties. “You gonna turn around for me? Really let me see you, pretty baby?” Sam nods and tugs the front of his hoodie up a little, then turns around. He’s already more than half-hard inside his little lacy panties.

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean murmurs, gripping his narrow hips tight. “Look at you.” Sam smiles softly, cheeks flushing. His breathing speeds up as Dean trails his fingertips over the swell of his hard little dick. He looks down with his lips slightly parted, intently following Dean’s fingers trailing along his dick and tugging on the fabric a little, stretching the lace over the swell of it. A strand of hair falls out of Sam’s tiny ponytail and he brushes it back behind his ear with his perfectly manicured, elegant little hand.

“Jesus, Sammy,” Dean murmurs, eyes locked with Sam’s as he presses his palm to Sam’s leaking little dick. “Fucking soakin’ through the fabric already, Christ.” Sam flushes some more, hands clutching a little tighter into the fabric of his hoodie, still holding it up so Dean can have a proper look.

“Gets me so fucking hard, Sammy,” Dean says, “seeing you in those lacy panties, creaming them already.” He leans back a little and cups the swell of his own dick. Sam’s eyes fly down, pink tongue coming out to wet his lower lip as he watches Dean adjusting himself.

“Dean,” he starts, “I wanna— I still—” He lets the fabric of the hoodie fall back down, covering the waistband of his panties, and pushes against Dean’s shoulders, pushing him back against the couch, a little more confident now that he realizes Dean really isn’t messing with him. He quickly strips out of his sweatpants and climbs onto Dean’s lap, bare skinny legs and still-socked feet on either side of Dean’s thighs. Dean reaches out to wrap his arms around his dream of a baby brother, but Sam catches his wrists, shiny pink nails digging into his skin.

“Gotta show you something else,” he says, not quite looking at Dean. Before Dean even has time to think about that, Sam’s reaching for the hem of his hoodie, pulling the fabric up to his chin, peeking at Dean from under his lashes.

The sight knocks the air right out of Dean’s lungs. His baby brother is wearing the cutest little bra Dean’s ever seen, the small, slightly-padded cups decorated with pink lace, matching his panties and nails perfectly.

“Fuckin' hell, Sammy,” Dean grits out, “gonna be the death of me, baby boy.” Sam smiles, a little shy, sweet and smug all at once, still holding his hoodie up, eyes glistening like those of a snake about to attack. If anything, his baby brother is looking deadlier than any kind of snake Dean can imagine.

“Been on a shoplifting spree, huh,” Dean muses as he brings his hands up to Sam’s narrow chest, cupping the padded material in his hands. Sam sighs like he can feel anything from it, eyes fluttering closed.

“Wanted to look so pretty for you,” he says, eyes focusing back on Dean, then, softly, “wanted to look pretty enough for you to fuck me.”

Dean’s read about snake bites and about people who were bitten describing what they feel like. Sam’s words, his pink panties and little bra, the way he fucking _looks_ at Dean— all of it feels like snake bites to his fucking _guts_ , burning inside him, making his whole body heat up and break out in sweat like it’s fighting the venom, his vision blurring and his head spinning like he’s about to lose consciousness.

Dean slides his hands back down his sides, rests them on his hips, just above the waistband of the panties, anchoring himself a little.

“Sammy,” he starts, his tone already causing his baby brother to look away, “I don’t— you’re—”

“Dean,” Sam interrupts, “please, Dean.” He lets the hoodie fall down, the slight swell of his little padded bra vanishing under the thick fabric. He crosses his arms at the waist and pulls the hoodie up and over his head the way girls do. He tosses it away and fists his hands in Dean’s flannel. He looks like a doll in Dean’s lap, delicate and fragile, all pale, clear skin, cheeks and chest a little flushed, matching the color of his lacy panties and bra. His ponytail has gotten a bit messy after he pulled the hoodie over his head, a couple of strands hanging out. Dean reaches out, tucks a strand behind his ear.

“You’re thirteen, Sammy,” he says, cupping Sam’s cheeks in his hands, “I’m not gonna— I can’t do that, Sam.”

“You want to,” Sam says petulantly, grinding down on Dean’s lap a little. “Can feel it,” he murmurs as he leans back a little, pressing a hand to the swell of Dean’s aching dick.

“Yeah, well,” Dean snorts, “won’t deny that, Sammy, but I’m not going to— shit, you’re way too young for that.” Sam’s still rubbing his little butt against him and Dean grabs his thin upper arms, trying to talk some sense into him. “Gotta wait, Sammy, wait ‘til you’re a bit older.”

Sam shakes his head stubbornly, fists his hands back into Dean’s flannel and presses his body flush to Dean’s, all that lace and bare skin rubbing against him. Dean wraps his arms around Sam’s tiny waist, holding him close but still.

“Please, Dean,” he whines, burying his face in the crook of Dean’s neck, “want it so bad.” Sam doesn’t know what he’s talking about, and Dean’s about to tell him that, but he bites his tongue, knowing well enough _he’_ s responsible for all of this, too fucking sick to tell his baby brother _no_ , giving in all the damn time, and now he’s got Sam in his lap, looking prettier than ever, begging to get fucked, and he can tell him _no_ today, but soon enough, Sam is gonna make him budge.

“Not gonna fuck you, Sammy,” Dean murmurs in his ear. He slides his hands up Sam’s waist, worms his hands between their bodies and slides them up to the cups of his baby-pink bra, trailing his fingers over the lacy fabric. He can feel Sam’s hard little nipples pressing through the material as he rubs his thumbs over it. “Why don’t you show me your pretty tits, huh?"

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam says in his stubborn don’t-change-the-subject voice, but he leans back a little anyway, giving Dean a better view. Dean rubs his thumbs down a little harder, making Sam sigh softly.

“Lookin’ so pretty in your cute little bra, Sammy,” Dean murmurs, cupping Sam’s barely-there tits, only padded fabric in his palms as he squeezes. “Gonna show me? Gonna show me your sweet tits?”

“You can take it off,” Sam says, sliding the straps down his skinny shoulders, and Dean’s already reaching behind him, unhooking the pink thing quickly, then tosses it on the couch.

“Christ, Sammy,” he grumbles as he stares at Sam’s flat chest, his mouth watering at the sight of his pink nipples. Sam squirms a little under his gaze like he’s insecure about the size of his pretty much invisible tits.

“Fuckin’ sweet little tits you have,” Dean murmurs. He cups them best as he can, hands pressed tight to Sam’s flat chest, feeling his hard little nipples against his palms.

“Wanna suck ‘em,” he continues, rubbing his thumbs over Sam’s nipples, “wanna suck your pretty little tits, Sammy.” He pulls Sam closer and leans in, licks around the hard, tiny nub before sucking it into his mouth.

“ _Oh_ ,” Sam sighs, like the innocent girl he’s not, hands flying up to Dean’s head, fingers clutching into his hair. Dean sucks a bit harder, scraping it with his teeth a little, and Sam tucks Dean’s head to his chest with his skinny little arms, holding him so, so tight, like he’s determined to keep him there until Dean smothers. He’s gasping softly as Dean sucks and nips, grinding down on Dean’s rock hard dick. Dean slides his hands down Sam’s back, cups his lace-covered butt in his palms and bucks his hips up against his baby brother. He switches to Sam’s other nipple, teasing around the neglected little thing with his tongue before sucking it between his lips. He digs his fingers into Sam’s butt, guiding him a little as Sam keeps rubbing against him with feverish little thrusts.

“Yeah, suck my tits,” Sam whispers, raking his painted nails behind Dean’s ears, keeping Dean’s face close to his chest. Dean hums around the pink nub, then sucks harder on it. He slips a hand between their bodies, presses it to the front of Sam’s panties. Sammy’s leaking steadily through the fabric, the lace already soaked. He shudders as Dean rubs his dick through the fabric, more pre-come seeping out. Dean lets Sam’s swollen nipple slip from between his lips, brings his other hand up to rub at it.

“You like that, huh,” he breathes, “having me sucking on your cute little tits. Fuckin’ soaking your panties, baby boy.” Sam nods fervently, bucking up against Dean like the needy little thing he is, not relaxing his grip on Dean’s head the slightest bit.

“Wanna fuck your tits,” Dean babbles against Sam’s chest, still rubbing Sam's hard little dick through his panties, “wanna press ‘em together and fuck ‘em.”

“Dean,” Sam whines, hands tightening in his hair, “want you to fuck me for real, Dean.”

“Not yet,” Dean murmurs. He scrapes his teeth along Sam’s puffy nipple, then soothes it with his tongue as Sam hisses. “Not any time soon, Sammy, gotta be patient.”

Sam huffs, then reaches down for Dean’s hand where it’s rubbing his dick. “At least touch me there, Dean,” he mutters, closing his slender fingers around Dean’s wrist, trying to guide it behind his back. Dean gives in, slides his hand down Sam’s back, fingers slipping underneath the waistband of the panties.

“Want me to touch your pussy?” Dean breathes as he dips two fingers down Sam’s cleft, “let me feel how wet you are for your big brother?”

“ _Oh_ ,” Sam gasps, wrapping his arms around Dean’s neck as Dean rubs his fingers over his tight hole. “Please, Dean,” he whines, pushing his butt back against Dean’s hand, “just your finger, _please_ , want it so bad.”

Dean considers it, always wanting to keep his needy little brother satisfied, aching to feel Sam hot and tight around his fingers, around his fucking _dick_ , but he knows well enough that if he lets Sam take one finger now, he’ll be asking for two tomorrow, and once Dean gives in, he won’t have much leverage to tell Sammy _no_ much longer.

“No, Sammy,” he breathes as he nuzzles into Sam’s hair, messing up his ponytail some more. “Want you to come like this for me, baby boy, wanna see you come while I rub your little pussy.”

He lowers his head a little again, catching one of Sam’s nipples between his lips. He sucks it into his mouth while he keeps rubbing two fingers over Sam’s tight little hole. Sam’s squirming and panting in his lap and Dean doesn’t doubt he’ll be able to make him come like this, make his sensitive little brother come inside his pretty panties. Dean dips his other hand between their bodies, brushing over the lace-covered swell of his dick.

“Christ, so wet for me, Sammy,” Dean grits out as he draws his mouth away from Sam’s swollen nipple. He presses his fingers a little harder to Sam’s hole, then firmly rubs his fingertips over it. “Can’t wait to fuck you, Sammy, gonna feel so good around my cock, _fuck_.” He’s rock hard in his jeans now, feels himself leaking as well from the way Sam grinds and writhes in his lap, face sweaty and flushed, strands of hair sticking to his temples and cheeks, the prettiest thing Dean’s ever laid his hands on and the only one he never seems to lose interest in.

“My pretty baby,” he murmurs, “my needy little Sammy.” Sam tightens his arms around Dean’s neck, rubbing himself off against his brother feverishly while Dean keeps teasing his hole. Sam is panting his name, _Dean Dean Dean_ over and over with some incoherent blabbering in between, Dean catches the words _fingers,_ _now_ and _please_ spilling from his lips along with those sweet little panting sounds.

“I’ll make it so good for you, baby boy,” Dean breathes, “eat you out until you’re a squirming mess, begging for my cock, then finger you ‘til you’re nice and open for me.” Sammy’s sobbing against Dean’s throat, eyes closed, rubbing against him frantically, uncontrollably. Dean quickly draws his hand out of Sam’s panties and wets his index and middle finger in his mouth, then slides them back down, inside the panties. “Make you clench around my fingers, desperate for more,” he says, rubbing his slick fingers over Sam’s fluttering hole. “I’ll give you what you want, baby boy, gonna fuck you so good,” Dean says, “promise I will,” and Sam’s coming, shuddering and gasping in Dean’s arms, fucking creaming his already-soaked lacy panties. Dean holds his shaking body tight, keeps rubbing over his twitching hole until Sammy has come down from his high and leans boneless against Dean’s chest. Dean’s fucking aching to get himself off, but that can wait— to have Sam like this, pliant and meek, all stubbornness and resistance gone, is not something Dean gets to have every day.

He presses a kiss to Sam’s sweaty temple, then slowly pulls the tie out of his hair, watching the strands fall around his face. He combs his fingers through the soft, dirty blond hair, smiling as Sam hums happily. Sam shifts a little in Deans lap, causing Dean to groan, and that seems to snap him out of his post-orgasmic haze a bit. Dean tries to keep him pulled to his chest, but Sam strains against his grip and Dean figures he’ll never have Sammy so compliant for long.

Sam sits back a little and reaches down with eager little hands, rubbing over the swell of his aching dick. He trails his painted pink nails over it teasingly and Dean groans at the feeling of them scraping over the denim.

“Wanna see it,” Sam murmurs, already unbuckling Dean’s belt with quick fingers, “see what it looks like in my hand with my nails painted.” He sounds like a child on Christmas morning. It makes Dean’s chest feel too tight and his dick twitch inside his boxers. Sammy doesn’t give him time to drown in his guilt, though, pulls Dean’s boxers down and takes his rock hard dick in his hand. His eyes are gleaming as he looks down at it, looking over the fucking moon as he jerks Dean slowly, watching his thick cock sliding through his elegant little hand. Dean has to look away, about to fucking lose it right there, with Sammy stroking him so sweetly, so perfectly, an innocent little kid and a femme fatale all at once. Sam lets go briefly, spits in his hand, knowing way too well how to make Dean feel good and fuck him up at the same time. He wraps his hand a round Dean’s dick again, jerks him a little faster.

“Do you want me to paint my face as well?” he says, looking up at Dean. “I was thinking, if I got some lip gloss.” He’s staring at Dean’s mouth and Dean knows his lips must still be all swollen and red from sucking on Sam’s nipples. “Maybe then,” he says, reaching out, trailing the nail of his forefinger along Dean’s bottom lip, “maybe then my lips would look a bit like yours.” He leans in, kissing Dean with that already fatal mouth, and Dean’s coming, spilling all over Sam’s hand and his painted little nails. Sam strokes him through it, making sure to get his hand covered in it, then holds his hand up to Dean, showing him what a mess he made of his perfectly manicured hand before sucking his fingers into his mouth and licking his handiwork clean. Once he’s done, he snuggles up to Dean’s side, nuzzles his face against Dean’s shoulder

“Can we hide the bra and panties in your duffle?” Sam asks, trailing his nails absent-mindedly over Dean’s chest, “so Dad would think you got ‘em from some girl if he would find them."

“Sure, Sammy,” Dean says, tugging his baby brother closer and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Sam leans back a little, showing his clean fingers to Dean again.

“I wanna keep the nail polish on,” he says, “do you think the color’s subtle enough for Dad not to notice?”

“I don’t know, Sam,” Dean says, rubbing a hand over his face, “better not to risk it, though.”

Sam snorts, then brings a hand up to Dean’s face. He trails his nails along Dean’s cheekbone, his eyes just as sharp as he looks at his brother, a smug little smirk playing on his lips.

“Watch me.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> [This](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13234242) is the fic for which this piece originally was intended. The book Sam mentions is _Holes_ written by Louis Sachar, which actually hadn't been published back when Sam was thirteen. I also felt that this 4k piece added relatively little to the story, so I decided to leave it out altogether. Anyway, thanks for reading, I hope you liked it :)


End file.
